


Contrast

by MUSEquera



Category: Muse
Genre: Established Relationship, Friendship/Love, Introspection, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUSEquera/pseuds/MUSEquera





	1. Chapter 1

He is everything I am not, I think as I lie awake in our bed, watching him while he sleeps, feeling a bit guilty about it because I know he'd be mortified if he knew how often I indulge in this nightly watch over him.

But I also know that he would not begrudge me the pleasure it gives me, because he seldom denies me anything. I am the one always demanding, everything always on my terms. I know I am not easy to live with, and I do try to tone down my Prima Donna tendencies for his sake, to buffer him from the worst of me and become the man he sees when he looks at me.  
  
He looks at me as though I am something precious, and the love in his eyes makes me feel like an impostor. I love him so much it hurts, yet I don't seem to be able to love as selflessly as he does, to care for him the way he does for me.

When was the last time I arranged a romantic dinner for us? Bought him flowers? Placed a note on his pillow if I had to leave before he woke up? And the rub is, he doesn't mind, because he enjoys, no, loves doing those things for me. I am the one pampered and waited upon, and I accept the attention as my due.

Even in our loving, he is the one who gives, attentive to my every need before I voice it. He cherishes me with his body, strong hands and generous mouth, well muscled arms around me and long legs entangled with mine, drawing pleasure from my body in a way no other man ever has. Claiming me as his without intending to, making me almost believe those words he whispers against my skin when he is moving slowly inside me.

When we play, I can feel his eyes follow me hungrily across the stage, the only eyes that should matter to me out of the thousands hanging on my every move. I wish I could say I play for him. But the driving force that rules me is my need for acceptance. For validation. My need to feel that what I create matters, that I matter. So I whore myself out to the crowd, feeding my need with their energy and their transient love.

He is strong and steady where I am fragile and unpredictable; patient and generous where I am restless and selfish. Even in the things we have in common we are different. I am sultry and defiant in my shyness, while his radiates such grace and charm that it is impossible to begrudge him the quiet space he needs.

No, I am nothing like him. I do not know what he sees in me, and I live in fear that one day I'll wake up and he won't be there. So I stand watch while he sleeps, telling him of my love in whispers he will never hear.

As I watch him, the shaft of morning light creeping across our bed as the sun rises reaches his face, and he stirs awake. Just like every morning since I became his, his hand seeks mine even before his eyes open, his beautiful slow smile spreading across his face as our fingers interlace.

And then the moment I live for arrives. Long lashes flutter, and love, pure and simple, smiles at me out of his warm hazel eyes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up slowly, light filtering red through my closed eyelids, and I blindly seek him across our bed. I smile as I find him, my reason for being, lacing my fingers through his. I know he's awake, and I wonder whether he has slept at all; he tries to hide his sleepless nights from me, but the dark circles under his eyes often betray him.

I open my eyes, knowing his will be already fixed on me, and look at him with love and wonder that are still as deep and sharp as the first time I woke up next to him and saw my love reflected in the mirror of his eyes.  
  
In his unguarded moments I see fear there too, and my heart clenches painfully every time. Behind the mouthy front he is a bundle of insecurities wrapped up in a pathological fear of rejection. Deep down, he's unable to make himself believe what he knows to be true. That he is worthy of being loved. That he is, and always will be, the love of my life.

Today is one of those times, so I pull him to me and hold him in my arms, whispering words of love as he clings to me, his lips frantic on the skin of my neck. I hold him until the fear leaches out of him with a sigh and he releases his fierce grip on me, bringing his hand to my face, his featherlight caress both thank you and apology.

I crane my neck to look at him, and my heart soars when I see that his eyes are clear once again. His hand slides to the back of my neck then and, pulling me down to him, he kisses me with surprising tenderness. His lips caress mine unhurriedly, soft and undemanding, the warm puffs of his breath even against my skin, and I smile at the familiar way his toes unconsciously curl and uncurl, kittenlike, against my shins.

Touching him is a compulsion, I'm addicted to the silken feel of his skin under my fingers. I slowly glide my hand over his flank, bony shoulder to lean thigh, lingering over the poignant ridges of his ribcage, the curve of his waist, the sharpness of his hip. My body awakens to him, and he responds by pressing into me, his leg hooking over mine.

I am fluent in the silent language of his body, and I respond to his mute plea without pause, without thought, without removing my lips from his. I wrap my arms around him and roll onto my back, pulling him with me, and I sigh into his mouth as his light frame settles on me.

The kiss deepens, his tongue invading my mouth to claim it, his body sliding urgently over mine as my arms tighten around him. Incongruously, perhaps, given that he's about half my size, he is often the aggressor, this firebrand of a man who loves me so fiercely. I let him claim me, my body responding to his need with a swiftness that takes my breath away.

With a final light peck to my lips, he braces his hands on my chest and pushes back to straddle me, looking down at me with hunger and need and love in his eyes. My arms fall uselessly to the bed on either side of me as he licks his lips, and I moan, knowing what he's about to do. Fever-bright eyes on mine, he brings his right hand to his mouth and slowly licks his three middle fingers before drawing them in, his tongue working over them as he pumps them in and out.

A drop of saliva runs slowly from the corner of his mouth and I can't watch anymore. I want to put my mouth to it and take it inside me. I want his fingers fucking my mouth. I want... I make an attempt to raise off the bed, but his hand on my chest presses me back down, eyes flaring and nails digging into my skin in warning. Closing my eyes briefly in surrender, I draw a painful breath and let myself fall back placing my hands on his hips, a swift caress down the centre of my chest my reward.

Once he has my attention again, he pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a moist plop, and runs them teasingly, wetly, down his body. I look in fascination at the light trail of his saliva as it progresses from gracefully arched neck to pale chest, over a tantalisingly pebbled nipple, down to his navel and then farther, along the soft trail of hair on his belly.

Thigh and tummy muscles flexing beautifully, he lifts himself slightly and leans forward, taking his weight on the hand resting on my chest. Reaching behind him, he stills, a far away look on his face, lips parted, and eyes half lidded. I watch, captivated, barely daring to move. He looks breathtakingly beautiful as the opens himself for me and, eyes fluttering closed, dark lashes stark against his pale skin, he starts rocking into his hand.

He settles onto me, resting on his forearm, taking possession of my mouth once more, mirroring the tempo of his fingers with his probing tongue as he rubs himself against my painfully hard cock. I can't breathe. I am drowning in desire for him. My hands leave his hips to cup the rippling muscle of his arse, holding his weight, spreading his cheeks, my fingers seeking entrance between his.

Stretching himself fully, he impales himself on my two middle fingers, gasping at the sensation, then slowly removes his own, stilling expectantly, panting into my mouth. Gently, carefully, I hook my fingers slightly inside him and pull them apart, opening him wide as he pulses hotly around me. Reaching between us he takes my cock in his hand and guides until it is poised in place, the precome now running freely down its head all the lubrication he needs.

Slowly, so slowly that I think I may die in anticipation, I lower him until my cockhead is just pushing in, and then I feel his heat as I enter him, his flesh fluttering against my fingers as I spread him wider. With a bone melting moan, his mouth slides off mine to latch onto my neck, and I grit my teeth in an effort to stop myself from just ripping him open and yanking him down on me.

I freeze, and he whimpers against my neck, trying to push himself onto me, wanting more. "Shhhh, give me a moment, love," I say, my voice a shaky whisper against his hair, "I don't want to hurt you." and, knowing his reckless streak, I close my eyes thankfully when he nods slightly and stops fighting me.

I breathe deep slow breaths until I am back in command of myself, and he sighs in relief when I stop holding him in place. I let him take me in gradually, delighting in every exquisite hairbreadth of stretch and the muffled sounds he makes against my skin as he envelops me. Once I am fully sheathed in him, I carefully remove my fingers, shivering at the way he tightens around me, taking a moment to feel every tiny twitch of his body, every breath, the pulse of his blood on my cock.

Stillness never lasts long with him and, with a kiss that leaves me breathless and a smile that sets my heart racing, he pushes upright, making me scream as he clenches around me. He grins at me then—he loves being in control—and starts a slow ride, squeezing me as he pulls himself up until just the tip is inside him, and gradually sinking back down until I'm balls deep. His supple body moving above me, thigh and belly muscles rippling, cock standing proud, hands roaming his own skin, eyes closed in concentration, is the most beautiful thing I'll ever see.

I moan in delight and frustration, arching into him, my fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs. I want more—I need more—and he knows it. He lets himself fall forward, hands braced either side of my head, and lowers his lips to mine, kissing me hungrily. When he's done, he pulls back to look at me, eyes shining, and asks, "Are you ready for me, my love?"

My heart fit to burst with love and desire, I gather him into my arms and, in a swift move, sit up then pull myself up on my knees. "Always." I finally answer, smiling at him. He smiles back at me, crooked tooth and all and, wrapping his legs around me and crossing his arms behind my neck, nods slightly.

That's all I need. My hands cup his buttocks, and I start to move inside him in long, powerful strokes, his cock rubbing deliciously against my belly as I bring him down on me, then pull him up as I withdraw. I close my eyes, letting the way he feels on me, around me, the deep purring sound he makes when he's close to coming, his voice in my ear as he urges me deeper, faster, sink into me until my balls tighten and I am so close to the edge that don't think I can last much longer.

I speed up the tempo of my hips, and I'm rewarded with the most beautiful sound in the whole world, his deep, low moan. Nails score my back and teeth sink into my shoulder, and he clenches tightly around me as he comes, hot and wet, between our bodies. My hips snap erratically into him, pleasure so intense it's almost pain exploding like fireworks along every fibre of my body, and I empty myself into him, throbbing in sync with the pulsing of his inner muscles.

Still joined together, I lower us gradually onto the bed, bracing myself so I don't crush the breath out of him, and roll us to lie on our sides. I wipe sweat soaked hair off his face and kiss his closed eyes, then his lips, and he smiles into the kiss, stretching and rubbing himself sinuously against me like a cat. I start to pull out then, but he draws me close, hiding his face in my neck and whispering, "Not yet. Hold me for a while. Please."

I grin into his hair in delight, and tighten my arms around him, loving the way he feels against me, all of his sharp angles finding their niche on my body, fitting perfectly when we are skin to skin. I love these unguarded moments of tenderness, which I alone am privileged to witness.

I love the fiercely proprietary expression in his eyes when he looks at me, the way he curls into me at the peak of pleasure, his random and unpredictable nature, his fire and his ice. All that makes him who he is.

All of him.

 


End file.
